


Mistakes

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: 5 Missed Shots, 1 Game-Winner [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Clueless Patrice, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post 2010-2011 NHL Season, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-30 21:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20103547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: “Just get on with it, please,” Patrice interrupts, squeezing the bridge of his nose.“I’ve gotten blackout drunk a couple times before. I’ve gotten regular drunk a bunch of other times, too. I never woke up in bed with another guy.”“I don’t want to talk about this.”“Bergy, come on, man, just hear me out. Like I said, never woke up in bed with another guy. I know you didn’t actually wake up with him because he ran away and came crying to me about it, but that’s not the point. Straight guys don’t fuck other guys no matter how drunk they are, Bergs. I think you should stop and think about some shit, that’s all.”





	Mistakes

Patrice wakes up in an unbelievable amount of pain.

He tries to sit up but feels queasy, so he relaxes into the pillow and rubs his face with both hands. He’s vaguely nauseous and his skull pounds, and… why is he sticky? Specifically, why is his _ dick _ sticky? Peeling his eyes open, he kind of already knows the answer to that. Except when he rolls around on the bed, there’s come on the sheets. So whoever he hooked up with got him off twice, apparently… and, stumbling around through the entire hotel room (bathroom included), there’s no signs anywhere that he was smart enough to wear a condom. Great.

Patrice gets in the shower just in time to throw up all over himself. God, how much did he drink? The water beating into his face feels like the best punishment for being so stupid. Yeah, they took the Cup, but that’s no excuse. Usually he’s smarter than this. Now in about a year some girl is going to show up with a baby and a subpoena for a paternity test, he just knows it. (Thank god he got tested a couple months ago and has been, for the most part, too busy to get laid due to the pressures of playoff hockey.)

He thinks as hard as he can. Rapping with Brad into a microphone… Brad! Brad went out drinking with him. So did Tyler. He can text one of them and ask, assuming they’re even able to talk. Patrice realizes right then that neither of them will probably even be awake yet. He tries to think if one will be more coherent than the other when they wake up.

After a shower that takes a lot longer than he means for it to, Patrice stumbles around in his hotel room looking for his clothes and finds only the ones he had on yesterday. That’s when he realizes it’s not his hotel room - it’s Brad’s. That’s Brad’s suitcase, those are Brad’s clothes, that’s Brad’s sweatshirt. (Which - why would Brad pack a sweatshirt at the beginning of summer?) Why isn’t he in his room?

Ugh, his clothes smell like sweat… Patrice pulls them on, trying not to think how gross it is, and finds his key card in his wallet. He goes to his own hotel room and almost expects Brad to be there, but it’s empty and clearly hasn’t been slept in. So - what? Had Patrice come into Brad’s room with a hookup by accident and Brad was still out partying with Tyler? That must be it. Which means Brad will probably be passed out in Tyler’s room.

Patrice puts on clean clothes and all but paints himself in deodorant, then drinks an entire bottle of water at once and goes out into the hall to find Tyler’s room. He’s still dizzy if he turns his head too fast and every few moments fights down the urge to throw up again, but he needs to find Tyler or Brad - preferably both. They should have at least a few details.

The first person he runs into is Andrew Ference. “Hey, man, do you know where Tyler is?”

Andrew makes his _ I’m thinking really hard _ face. “Uh… he passed out on the bar and got dragged up to his room by somebody. I think he’s in 710.”

“Thanks, buddy.” He heads there, stopping to lean on the wall every so often. Pounding on the door incites grumbling from deep within, and it opens to reveal… “Those aren’t yours, are they?”

Tyler snickers, clearly somewhere between still drunk and hungover. “Yeah… uh… lights were still off and shit, so I grabbed the wrong ones… they’re not so bad, though…”

Patrice rolls his eyes and chooses to ignore his team mate wearing some strange woman’s panties going forward. “Is Brad in there with you? I need to talk to him… actually I need to talk to you, too.”

“Oh… uh… Bergy, that’s… he… uh…”

“What?”

“Yeah, he’s here,” Tyler mumbles, then staggers away to let Patrice in.

Brad, at least, isn’t naked wearing someone else’s underwear like Tyler. What Brad _ is, _ though, is passed out on the floor outside Tyler’s bathroom, barefoot with his pants and belt not fastened while wearing his shirt inside out and backwards. Over the lingering alcohol odor, he stinks of sweat and of sex, so who knows what he was out doing before he found his way back.

Patrice crouches down and lightly shakes: “Marchy, wake up.”

“Ugh…” Brad rolls onto his back, scratches his stomach, and immediately rolls back over onto his side again so he can throw up all over the carpet. He crawls away a few seconds later and collapses onto his face near the bed. “Fuuuuuuuck, my head…”

Great. Neither of these two are going to be any use - that’s very clear, now. That won’t stop him from trying, though.

Patrice puts his hand on Brad’s shoulder. “Marchy, I need your help.”

Brad tries to sit up and fails, landing awkwardly on one shoulder. His eyes find Patrice - and he immediately bursts into tears. Patrice wasn’t expecting that. He pulls his sobbing, whimpering friend upright and into a hug.

“Bergy, you should… like… just go or whatever,” Tyler mumbles from somewhere nearby. “Seriously, bro.”

“Why? Did I do something wrong?”

Tyler just gives him a look while Brad continues to bury ugly, heaving sobs in his chest. Which again begs the question why Brad’s crying. He needs to figure that out the second he gets this figured out.

“So like… you blacked out, I guess?” Tyler tries, sitting down heavily in a chair. “But not like. The sleepy kind. Like. Dude, you were _ so _ drunk. And…”

“What?”

“Oh, fuck,” Tyler answers, stumble-running to the bathroom.

“Yeah, there seems to be a lot of that going around this morning,” Patrice grumbles to himself. Meanwhile Brad’s about to pass out again, still clinging to him. “Get up, Marchy, you need to shower and get some sleep on an actual bed.”

Brad whines but lets himself get pulled from the floor. Patrice takes him to his hotel room, undresses him because he clearly can’t do it himself, and drags him into the bathroom. Turning on the water, he desperately hopes and prays he won’t have to actually climb into the shower and scrub his friend clean. He carefully puts Brad under the spray and tugs the curtain shut, then scoops up the dirty clothes and again notices something he wishes he could unsee more than Tyler wearing someone else’s underpants.

“Marchy?”

A grunt.

“Uh… can I ask something?”

_ Hiccup. _ “What, Bergs?”

“Are you gay?” There’s a long stretch of silence and then he hears Brad start crying again, much more miserable instead of the panicked-sounding howls from before. “Brad?”

“Don’t tell,” Brad begs. “Bergy… I’m sorry, okay? Please don’t tell…”

“I won’t, Marchy, I would never, I promise. But… uh… look, we’ll talk about this again later, but you need to get tested now, as soon as you can.”

“Yeah,” Brad whimpers. “Just don’t tell, okay?”

“I won’t, you know I won’t… I’m going to get you some clean clothes. Use lots of soap, bud.”

“Yeah.”

Patrice drops the dirty clothes as soon as the bathroom door is closed behind him, then digs through Brad’s suitcase for sweats and boxers and an undershirt. He’s going to get Brad comfortable, put him to bed, and then go interrogate Tyler. He needs to know who he hooked up with, assuming Tyler saw what happened. If he can figure that out, and maybe any other stupid shit he probably did last night, then he can go report his idiot behavior to Z and to coach so they can prepare for whatever backlash might come later. And then… he’ll check on Brad, get his friend to eat something and drink water.

But he also needs to know why Brad’s behaving so strangely. Aside from being very badly hungover, something really fucked Brad up last night apparently and Patrice wants to help if he can.

Brad shuffles unsteadily out of the bathroom, just barely coordinated enough to hold up the towel around his waist. His eyes are red, either from being drunk or from crying, and he’s in a terrible state - hungover while still intoxicated. Patrice grabs a second towel and rubs his hair dry for him, then gives him his clothes.

“Bergy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry, man,” Brad mumbles as he struggles to get into his sweatpants and almost gets himself hopelessly tangled. “I’m just… I’m so fucking sorry, okay?”

“Why?”

“I just am,” Brad sniffs.

Patrice doesn’t think he can be more confused. “Did you do something? I… Marchy, I don’t remember anything, okay? I’ve never gotten that drunk before and the last thing I remember is you passing me shots of Jägermeister. So if you did something and I got mad or whatever, just… consider yourself forgiven, I have no idea what you did.”

“You don’t remember anything at all?” Brad whispers as he repeatedly fails to get his shirt over his head.

“No, sorry. I woke up in your room and it really looks like I hooked up with someone, so… now I get to deal with that, whenever it pops up again.”

Brad nods, sniffing and dropping his shirt because he apparently just can’t figure out how to get it onto his body. “Oh. Okay. That’s okay.”

Patrice feels sick, but a different kind of sick than he’s already been feeling from the leftover effects of getting smashed. He clearly said something wrong, but he has no idea what. Instead he just hugs Brad, who’s now crying for the third time this morning. “It’s going to be okay, Marchy,” he promises, rubbing Brad’s back a little. “Why don’t you just tell me what happened, and I’ll try to help whatever way I can, okay?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Brad answers, rubbing his face on Patrice’s shoulder. “You already said you don’t remember.”

Patrice figures that’s all the answer he’s going to get, so he takes Brad over to the bed… and notices that it’s still a disaster. Yeah, that would just be cruel, making Brad sleep in a bed he was up all night fucking someone in, so instead Patrice takes Brad to his own hotel room where there’s clean blankets and undisturbed sheets. He tucks Brad in and puts a glass of water on the bedside table, making sure his friend falls asleep before he leaves.

“Tyler!” he calls, banging on the door of 710. “Put pants on this time, please!”

Tyler’s not wearing pants when he answers, but he’s at least wearing his own boxer-briefs now instead of women’s panties. “Dude, what? I wanna just hang out being sick in peace or whatever… fuck, we got so fucked up yesterday…”

Patrice shoves his way into the room and closes the door. “First, you should start by sitting down before you fall over and hurt yourself. Second, I don’t remember anything, but you were there and you’re awake so you need to help me out. I could really be in trouble and if I am, I need to know.”

“Bro you _ are _ in so much trouble,” Tyler answers. “Marchy came over and woke me the fuck up at like, two in the morning, puked all over my fucking bathroom, and then just passed the fuck out on the floor after. Before he got to the puking part he kept yelling and crying about how bad he fucked up and you’ll never forgive him or something. I wasn’t actually there for that part, so if you wanna know what he did you gotta ask him, but… fucking a, man, something happened.”

Patrice covers his face with his hands and closes his eyes. “He’s sleeping right now, I’m going to wait a little while before I ask him again. But… Segs, do you remember anything about me hooking up with a girl?”

“No. I saw you make out with Brad on a bet, though.”

“…this better be a joke.”

“Nope, sorry bro. You seemed to be enjoying yourself a lot, though.” Tyler’s eyes get wide. “Oh my god, what if you… dude! That would totally explain why he was freaking out so bad, wouldn’t it? Hey did you know he’s gay?” At least he looks bad about saying that the second it leaves his mouth. “Fuck, shit, fuck, Bergy, pretend I never said that…”

Patrice glares at Tyler. “Yeah, I did know that, actually, and you need to pay better attention to what you’re saying instead of just outing people left and right in the future. How drunk was he when that happened?”

“Not as drunk as you. Um, look, Bergy, don’t be mad, especially after what I just said, but… like… okay Brad never actually said anything about this to me, but I’m pretty sure he has a crush on you, okay? And… uh, I at least made sure nobody took pictures. But. I had some help with that. From Soupy.”

Patrice groans. “That’s-that’s great, Seggy. Now the whole team knows this is something I did and I’m the last one to hear about it.” He sighs. “I need to go talk to Z, here’s the other card for my room. Check on Marchy every so often and make sure he doesn’t try to leave or do something stupid, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Patrice isn’t sure where he goes wrong after he leaves Tyler’s room, because somewhere between point A and point B he gets stopped, redirected, and pulled aside to be interviewed for the DVD. Once that’s done with, he can’t find his captain anywhere, so he goes and speaks to Coach Julien instead.

“Well… I did hear about this bet,” Claude starts once Patrice isn’t talking anymore. “I didn’t actually think it was true.”

“Tyler’s still technically drunk, coach. He might be wrong,” Patrice points out, not able to look up from the floor. “I hope he’s wrong.”

“You really don’t remember anything?”

“No, I don’t, and anyone I can ask is… really unhelpful. Brad’s passed out and Tyler’s… Tyler. I want to get out in front of this but I don’t think I can, so… I’m sorry if it turns out I did something that can hurt the team.”

“I think you need to speak to your team mates, Patrice. No, not Tyler again. There must’ve been other people there besides Tyler and Brad.”

“Soupy might’ve been there.”

“Then you should start with him.”

“I’m sorry, coach.”

“I know you are. Good luck.”

Greg Campbell and Johnny Boychuk are hanging out at the vending machines and immediately stop talking when they see him.

Patrice sighs. “That bad, huh?” At the looks he gets from them, he sighs again. “Guys, help me out, okay? I don’t remember anything…”

Johnny chugs his Gatorade all at once. “I wasn’t actually there, bud. I heard Marchy yelling in the hall at about two thirty in the morning, he sounded pretty upset.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know, he was drunk and I was trying to sleep.”

“Seggy said something about phones,” Soupy offers. “We managed to stand in front of you and hide you until nobody was looking.”

“So it didn’t get filmed?”

“No, uh, it did get filmed, but I’m the only one who filmed it. Seggy would’ve too but he couldn’t figure out how his phone worked, he was too gone by then. I wasn’t thinking about it… it seemed funny at the time, I wanted to be able to chirp you for it later.”

“Did you delete it?”

“I’ll do it right now-”

“How many people did you show it to first?”

“Just him and Thorty,” Soupy answers, jerking his thumb at Johnny.

“Show me,” Patrice demands. He needs to know.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Soupy fishes his phone from his pocket and plays with it for a few seconds, then hands it over. Patrice hits _ play _ and immediately regrets it, because yup, there’s him, a big drunk idiot who can barely sit up on his own, sprawled in the corner of their booth.

_ There’s Tyler, yelling and spilling liquor everywhere and egging Brad on… and there’s Brad. Brad, only slightly less drunk than Patrice, not-very-subtly inching closer along the bench and saying something too quiet for the phone to pick up over the ambient noise. Apparently it’s really something, because Patrice starts laughing, very obviously drunk off his ass. _

_ “Bergy you should kiss him,” Tyler insists. _

_ “No, man, I’m not-” Patrice hiccups. “I don’t taste good right now… ugh. This shit sucks, what is it?” _

_ “Off-brand vodka,” Brad giggles. “They ran out of the good shit or something… Bergs… Bergy… Tyler’s right, bro, you should kiss me, I prob’ly _ do _ taste good ’cause I been drinking fruit-tasting booze instead… plus you’re cute, too, I always wanted to kiss you anyway.” _

_ “What do I get if I do?” Patrice asks with a huge, dumb grin. _

_ “You can have my drink instead, it’s way better.” Brad leans over and whispers something. _

_ Patrice’s smile gets bigger. “Yeah, yeah, okay.” And then he’s pulling Brad over for a really clumsy kiss, right on the mouth, which lasts entirely too long. _

The video ends there and Patrice feels sick… but not for the obvious reasons. He can’t believe he did this to Brad. “Fuck.”

“Bergy, you were drunk, okay? It’s not like you did it on purpose,” Soupy points out quietly.

“Just get rid of that, please,” Patrice chokes out. “I… I have to go, I’ll see you later.”

He tries not to run for the elevator and once inside he jabs the button four or five times - he needs to make sure Brad’s going to be okay. Patrice can’t believe how stupid he acted last night, especially after what Tyler said about Brad probably having a crush on him. On the way down the hall, though, he pauses outside Brad’s room - the room he woke up in earlier - and goes in to look for a second. He imagines the impossible: himself hooking up with a team mate. Not something he’s done before, but he’s never gotten so drunk in his entire life. Patrice expects to feel gross about it, this idea of fucking Brad, but… he doesn’t.

Okay, actually, he does, but it’s still not for any obvious reasons. He hates that he can’t remember, he hates that he was stupid enough to hurt Brad this way, but (weirdly) he doesn’t hate the idea of himself with Brad. Patrice tries to imagine - there’s _ that stain _ on the sheet, so that’s where Brad was lying. Probably… probably bent over the side of the mattress. Which makes Patrice feel worse, because it means he wasn’t even making eye contact as he was very literally fucking his friend. He’s one of the worst human beings alive and he knows it.

The only consolation Patrice has is that at least now he knows that Brad didn’t catch anything from this encounter.

Going to his own room, he thinks about what he’d want if he was the one this happened to instead. What would he need if he got betrayed by someone he probably loved? What would make him feel better after waking up from a drunk coma?

Patrice takes off his shoes and crawls into bed.

He slowly gets into the sheets, trying not to be too disruptive, and pulls Brad into his arms. Brad smells like hotel soap, very sweet and clean, and his dark hair is soft where his head is tucked under Patrice’s chin. Normally, despite being short, Brad still can’t really be called _ small, _ because he isn’t, he’s muscular and tough like all hockey players. Right now, though, fitted against Patrice, he does almost seem small.

Brad twitches a little in his sleep and Patrice cuddles him closer. This results in Brad immediately grabbing on and clinging, which means neither of them are going anywhere until he decides to let go. Which is fine, really. Patrice isn’t moving until Brad comes to.

It takes forever for Brad to wake up.

By this point, Patrice has ignored at least four phone calls and god only knows how many texts - he lost track of the buzzing in his pocket. But he forgets about that as soon as Brad starts moving, first uncurling from Patrice’s shirt and then arms and legs stretching out. Then Brad’s eyes open, he yelps in surprise, and more or less throws himself off the side of the bed. Patrice sits up and watches his friend scramble backwards until hitting a wall, which would be funny if it was happening in a movie. But this isn’t a movie, it’s real life, and seeing it makes Patrice sad.

“Marchy, it’s okay, calm down,” he insists, trying to sound gentle.

“Bergy, I can explain, okay?”

“You don’t have to explain, I was snuggling you.”

“You - what? Why?”

“Because I wanted-” He stops, mostly because he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. “I talked to some of the guys and I’m pretty sure I know what happened last night. I feel bad about everything and I didn’t want you to keep feeling bad, too.”

“No, it’s okay,” Brad insists, even though it very clearly isn’t. “I’m sorry for… everything… and it’s probably a really good idea if we pretend none of this ever happened and never talk about it ever ever _ ever _ again.”

“Marchy-”

“It’s fine.”

Brad gets up and is clearly about to leave, and Patrice has never seen him look so unhappy - not even when he got suspended. He falls over himself getting off the bed and going over to Brad.

Patrice grabs his friend in a hug. “Talk to me. What happened yesterday? I want to know everything.”

“We were really hammered… like _ really _ hammered. I talked you into kissing me while we were out drinking… you seemed like you were into it, so I thought… I mean… Bergy, I was really fucking drunk, okay? I’m so fucking sorry-”

“Stop, Marchy, you don’t have to be sorry,” Patrice murmurs, squeezing him. “I’m pretty sure you did nothing wrong, please just finish telling me, okay?”

“Okay,” Brad agrees, sounding unhappy with it. “So I told you… I told you that… fuck, it’s really bad, Bergs.”

“No, you’re okay. I’m not mad.”

“IsaidIwouldletyoufuckme,” Brad blurts out, mashing the words together. “And I kept telling you… I kept saying stupid shit, like that you’re really cute and shit. And then we got up here and… I kind of feel like I took advantage of the situation or something, because you were smashed and I… fuck, Bergy, I wanted it to happen for awhile. I wasn’t thinking. I’m so fucking sorry, man.”

“Seggy said you had a crush on me.”

“Yeah, well… he’s actually right for once.”

“You really thought I’d be mad at you for that?”

“…yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re like… team mates, and shit… and plus you’re not… you know. You like girls.”

Patrice is really hurt for a second that Brad has him pegged for a homophobe until he realizes that Brad probably has _ everyone _ pegged for a homophobe. Same-sex marriage isn’t legal in this country and the NHL is rampant with intolerance… it makes guys like Brad beg their friends not to tell because they fear for their careers and for their safety.

“Marchy, you’re a human being and you need love like everyone else does,” Patrice tells him. “I wouldn’t ever get mad at you for that.”

“Yeah, but…”

“What?”

“Things are gonna be weird for us now. I pretty much dragged you up here and begged you to fuck me, that’s not a normal thing between bros.”

“Have you done that before?” Patrice wonders.

“No. Thank god. If I did I probably would’ve gotten my ass beat. I’m just lucky it was you I decided to try this on or whatever, at least you didn’t get mad about it.”

“Yeah, it sounds like I was pretty much the opposite of mad.” Patrice hugs Brad closer, not giving him a chance to escape. He knows if he does let Brad leave now, the guilt and the shame will eat his friend alive even though it’s completely unnecessary. “Also you should know that at least I didn’t give you anything.”

“Oh. Uh, good. I kind of forgot about that until you said it.”

“Brad.”

“Yeah?”

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“Probably not.”

“Why?”

“There just isn’t, okay? I wish I could undo everything from last night, that’s the only thing that can fix this…”

“Why?” Patrice asks again. “What needs fixing? Marchy, I meant it when I said you did nothing wrong. Nobody took any video of us in the bar except Soupy and I made him delete it, everything’s going to be fine.” It occurs to him as he talks that they shouldn’t have to be so miserable when they _ literally just won the Stanley Cup. _

“It’s not fine, Bergy!” Brad tries to wrench free but Patrice just hugs him tighter. “Nothing about this is fine!”

“Why?”

“Because…”

“Marchy, just tell me,” he sighs.

“Because you know, now. I didn’t want you to know, I was just kinda waiting for it to go away on its own…”

Patrice very suddenly remembers that Brad is younger than him and has only legally been an adult for four years. “What if it didn’t go away on its own, though? You could’ve just been suffering in silence for a really long time… and I probably would’ve found out eventually anyway.”

“I guess.” Brad quits struggling and relaxes a little. “You’re taking this way too well.”

“Okay, would you rather have me freak out and scream at you for twenty minutes like you expected? Because if you really want, I could probably do that, but I wouldn’t be happy about it.”

“No, this is way better.”

“Alright, then.”

“Plus that’s not what I meant. It’s just weird… you’re like… hugging me and not being weird about it and shit. Probably most people would act a little weird at least.”

“I’m not ‘most people,’ Marchy.” Patrice lets go with one arm so that he can start stroking down Brad’s messy hair with his hand instead. “I just want you to be okay.”

“Yeah well I’m super not okay, Bergs. Also I take it back, I wish you’d get pissed instead because I seriously have no idea what to do with this.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“I fucked you when you were drunk.”

“You were drunk, too. If you got me drunk on purpose because you wanted to sleep with me that would be different, but I know you were just being impulsive like always.”

“I’m still sorry I did it.”

“I know you are. I’m sorry, too.”

“Why?”

“Because look what I did to you, Marchy.”

“Actually you didn’t really do anything, I’m always this fucking anxious but usually I’m better at pretending not to be.”

That makes way more sense than Patrice is comfortable with, and he hates that. The idea of Brad living in constant fear is painful.

“Don’t ever feel anxious because of me, okay? I’m sorry for this, and if there’s anything I can do to fix it I want you to tell me.”

“There’s really nothing, Bergy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Does it at least help that I’m not going to stop being friends with you?”

“A little,” Brad admits. “But isn’t it weird and shit for you?”

“I don’t know, I stopped thinking about it when I realized how bad I probably fucked you up.”

“We got trashed and had sex, how are you _ not _ thinking about it?” Brad demands. “That’s literally the only thing on my mind right now.”

Patrice pauses for a second when a very random idea forces its way into his head. It’s stupid and there’s no reason to ask, but… he can’t not. “So… can I just ask something?”

“Yeah.”

“…was I at least any good while I was busy ruining your entire week?”

Brad makes a small, weird noise, then begins shaking a little, and then - amazingly - starts laughing. Patrice doesn’t know why, but he feels a little better now.

“What, do you want a play-by-play?”

“Just the highlights is fine.”

“Okay. So I was about to try undressing you right there in the bar, but Seggy was actually smart enough to stop me for once. He told me I should stop before I did something even stupider because Soupy was there with us and… so then I tried to be less of a dumbfuck and went up to my room, but you followed me. Somehow. You kept bumping into things - I mean, I kept bumping into things, too, but it was worse for you. Anyway. So I’m a dumbass and let you into my room, and you, uh, you started kissing me again. I let you do it.”

“Did I say why?”

“Not really. It was kind of - we had a hard time getting our clothes off, because - y’know, we were both so fucking gone. At least I was smart enough to grab lube, though…”

“I didn’t hurt you or anything, right? I’ve never - with a guy before.”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I mean I’m a little sore… for hook-ups I mostly, uh, I mostly top because it’s safer and I’m not really used to going the other way around. Also you’re big.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, it wasn’t bad or anything. We both got off. And - for fuck’s sake, Bergy, only _ you _ would fucking apologize for that.”

“What? You said you’re sore… okay, all of that is beside the point.”

“Right. You asked if you were any good.”

“Yeah…”

“I don’t actually know how to answer, bro. I really wanted it to happen and I really like you and - fuck, I didn’t actually mean to say that.”

“It’s okay, I think we already established that you really like me, Marchy.”

“Yeah. So the whole time I was just thinking ‘my alt-captain is fucking me.’ And I was still really fucking drunk. So, I liked it. That’s the only way I can answer.” Brad tenses up. “You keep saying you’re sorry, though.”

“I _ am _ sorry.”

“For having sex with me?”

“No, for making you feel bad.”

“Does that mean you don’t actually regret it?”

“I wish I could at least remember. Like I said, I’m sorry for making you so upset, you cried like three times this morning and every single time it was because of me.”

“I know you said not to say ‘most people’ but most people would be glad they can’t remember. How are you not fucking mortified, bro? You’re a straight guy but you boned me when we were drunk.”

“Why do you want me to be mortified? _ Why do you want me to hate you? _ I don’t want either of those things and it’s really confusing.”

“I don’t want you to hate me, I just keep thinking that you _ should. _”

“If you say ‘most people’ again, Marchy…”

“I know, I wasn’t gonna. But you’re also still straight. And way out of my league. And we’re team mates.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Patrice wonders.

“Awhile.”

“How long?” he repeats.

“Like… more than a year. Also I know you’re not on the internet and social whatever that much but I’ve seen at least five posts in different spots of straight guys saying they’d go gay for you. So it’s not just me. You’re very pretty and people like you.”

Patrice doesn’t even know what to say to that, and his headache is coming back so that’s not helping things. “Okay… I need some aspirin and you probably do, too, so while I go out and find some I want you to get dressed and then we’re going to go have something to eat, okay?”

“No, I still feel sick-”

“You’ll feel less sick if you eat. Just - go put on a shirt, okay?”

Patrice gives him one last squeeze and finally lets go. Brad still looks really unhappy with life, but it’s not as bad as it was when he woke up. They both head for the door and Patrice opens it just in time for Tyler to almost hit him in the face trying to knock.

“Woah!” He eyes a shirtless, barefoot Brad. “Round two, guys?”

“Oh fuck off, Seggy,” Brad snaps, shoving Tyler into the hallway and stomping away to his own room.

“What do you want, Tyler?”

“Actually I wanted to hassle you real quick. Are you busy?”

“I’m about to go for pancakes. No you can’t come. Make it quick, please, my head hurts.”

“Okay, first, I can’t believe you guys are going to IHOP without me. Second… shit, close the door, man.”

Patrice lets him in. “What.”

“I was just thinking - yeah, I know, ‘that’s a first’ or whatever.”

“Just get on with it, please,” Patrice interrupts, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve gotten blackout drunk a couple times before. I’ve gotten regular drunk a bunch of other times, too. I never woke up in bed with another guy.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bergy, come on, man, just hear me out. Like I said, never woke up in bed with another guy. I know you didn’t actually wake up with him because he ran away and came crying to me about it, but that’s not the point. Straight guys don’t fuck other guys no matter how drunk they are, Bergs. I think you should stop and think about some shit, that’s all.”

Coming from Tyler Seguin, that’s unreasonably intelligent-sounding. Patrice sighs. “Yeah. Okay. I have to go.”

“Bergy-”

“We can talk later.”

Patrice gets Tyler out of his room, then goes and finds Brad, who’s now dressed and pulling on his shoes. They use Brad’s phone to get on Google Maps and find the nearest IHOP, something that Patrice still isn’t used to, and down some aspirin before walking there. Despite it being two thirty in the afternoon, both of them get coffee.

“So what did Seggy want?” Brad asks while pouring a ridiculous amount of cream and sugar into his mug.

“It’s not important,” Patrice shrugs. He puts a much more sensible one cream and one sugar into his coffee and takes a small sip. “You should’ve gotten sausage.”

“I got bacon…”

“I know, you should’ve gotten both… it’s okay, I’ll give you some of mine. The grease will help.”

“Are you sure that’s not a myth, Bergs? Or a urban legend or whatever?”

“It might be, but it’s also worth a shot.”

Brad nods a little and has some more of his coffee. “So like… how come when I woke up you were cuddling me?”

“I… I didn’t want you to feel abandoned or something. I wanted you to be okay, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

Brad’s eyebrows go up. “Really?”

Patrice feels embarrassed. It seemed like a good idea when he did it, but now that he’s explaining it he realizes how stupid it really was.

“Yeah… um… well, it was because Segs told me that he was pretty sure you had a crush on me, so I tried to think of what I would want waking up like that. All I could come up with is that if I had a thing for someone and had a drunk hook-up with them, I wouldn’t want to wake up by myself. So I. Um. I figured maybe it would be nicer for you if you got to wake up being snuggled. Because then you wouldn’t feel abandoned like I said.”

“Oh.” Brad covers his face with his hands and slouches forward over the table.

“Marchy?”

Brad’s shoulders are trembling. “Why do you have to be so nice all the time?”

Patrice has made his friend start crying in public. (Yeah, Brad’s still hungover and that can really screw people up until it stops, but still - this is ridiculous.) It’s the fourth time Brad’s started crying today because of something Patrice has said or done. He glances around - there are only two other booths with people in them, and both are couples who are paying no attention to the world around them. He knows the waiter won’t be back for at least several minutes, so it’s safe for him to sit on the other side of the booth and side-hug Brad.

“Marchy, don’t cry…”

“Sorry, my head just really fucking hurts,” Brad whimpers. “Also you’re too nice.”

Patrice fucking hates himself.

“Marchy, you need to tell me how I can fix this.”

“Can you go back in time and make me not act like a jackass?”

“…no.”

“Then you can’t fix this.”

“Brad-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry again, Bergy.”

“I wasn’t going to. I was going to say that it’s not unfixable and also that you’re not a jackass. Now will you please tell me what’s so bad about this? Here’s what I understand. Both of us were drunk, so neither of us was trying to take advantage of each other. When it happened we were both enjoying ourselves. So, there’s no reason for you to feel guilty.”

“But it wasn’t supposed to happen at all,” Brad mumbles, wiping his eyes on the back of his wrist.

“Is this about the team? They’ll just blame the kissing on us being drunk. The only one who knows we had sex is Seggy and he was just as smashed as we were, so there’s a pretty good chance nobody will believe him.”

“No, it’s not about the team, what the fuck, Bergy.”

“Then what?”

“You know what’s worse than wanting something you can never have?” Patrice is about to answer but Brad keeps going before he can. “When you get to have that thing you can’t have and everything’s great until you stop having it and you realize you never get to have it ever again but now you know how great it is. That’s way fucking worse, man. And plus you’re still being way too nice about it and shit.”

Oh. Right. Somehow Patrice forgot that Brad having a crush on him means that Brad has a crush on him. Crushes mean feelings and shit. Now he gets why Brad thinks this is unfixable.

“I’m sorry, Marchy.”

“For fuck’s sake, stop saying you’re sorry already.”

“But I am.”

“Yeah, I know, but there’s literally no reason for you to be sorry.”

Of course the waiter shows up now. Patrice puts on a look of _ please don’t say anything, just give us our food. _ He feels rude doing it, but Brad needs to be disturbed as little as possible. The plates are put in front of them and she leaves without a word.

“Can I say something else?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“I want you to eat this sausage. You’ll feel better.” With his free hand, he picks it up and sets it on top of the massive pancake stack.

“Okay.” Brad spears it with his fork and stuffs the whole thing in his mouth. “Look, Bergy-”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Patrice chuckles, reaching for a piece of bacon and sucking on the end for a second before actually biting it off. Then he remembers how much he hates himself right now and promptly loses his appetite; he has to force himself to swallow. “I know you think this is the end of the world, but it isn’t.”

“I know it’s not the end of the world, if it was I’d probably be getting dragged down to hell like all the other teams’ fans keep saying.”

“You know what I mean, Marchy. I’m not trying to make it seem like this isn’t a big deal or anything, because I know it’s making you feel really bad about yourself. But I’m still going to be your friend, just like I said earlier.”

“Yeah, I know.” Brad steals a second sausage link right off Patrice’s plate, but he doesn’t mind at all because at least Brad’s eating. “I wish I was smart enough to not do this at all though. Or that I was at least smart enough to not go immediately crying to Seggy about it.” He eyes the thing of fake syrup like he thinks it’s going to attack him and pours powdered sugar over his pancakes instead, but not before smothering them in butter. “So like. What would’ve happened if you woke up and I was still there?”

“I don’t know. I probably would’ve figured out what happened a lot sooner. You might’ve thrown up on me… or maybe it would’ve been the other way around, I was really sick when I first got up.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah. And I was pretty out of it for a few minutes when I first got up, I might have taken you into the shower with me and that would’ve been even weirder.”

“Bergy you fucked me and don’t even remember it. Nothing’s weirder than that.”

“Point.” Patrice forces himself to take another bite of his food no matter how much he doesn’t want to (and no matter how difficult it is to do when one of his arms is still wrapped around his friend’s shoulders). “Marchy, listen. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but you’re really cute and guys should be falling over themselves to be with you. And you helped win a Stanley Cup! You can probably get a boyfriend really easily now.”

“I don’t have boyfriends, Bergy. I go out looking for sex. That’s not the same thing.”

“Yeah, but someday that’s going to change. You’ll find the right guy who’s perfect for you and forget you ever had a thing for me. It sucks to think about, and it doesn’t seem like it right now, but eventually this won’t hurt so bad, okay?”

“Yeah but right now it _ does _ hurt really bad.”

“I know, I’m so-”

“Don’t. Say that. Again.”

“Right.” So instead, Patrice apologizes in French this time.

Brad snorts and almost chokes on his pancakes. “That still counts, smartass.”

Patrice smiles. “Yeah, but it got you to laugh.”

His phone buzzes and he ignores it because he’s too busy making himself eat - he got crepes stuffed with cream cheese and topped with raspberries, as well as a pile of bacon and sausage. So far Brad has eaten most of his greasy protein for him, and he should really finish the crepes at least.

“Can’t you just be a bastard for once? It would make everything about this easier for me.”

“Marchy, I promise, if I knew how to be a bastard I would do it for you.”

“Only you can possibly be so nice that you wish you can be mean to make my life easier.”

“I just want to help.”

“Yeah, I know you do.”

“There’s got to be something I can do to make you feel better.”

“Oh my god, Bergy! You cuddled me, hugged me, and took me out for breakfast in the afternoon. I don’t actually think you can do more than that.”

“But you still don’t feel better.”

“Nope. And I’m not gonna. There’s nothing you can do about it, man. Unless you want to just hang out and be sad with me.”

Patrice nods. “Okay, then I’ll do that.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course.”

Brad laughs. “Never change, Bergs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the end notes for this fic before saying anything about the gray area that is drunk sex. This issue is literally the only reason comments are moderated, so go see that rant first. That said comments are otherwise welcomed :)

**Author's Note:**

> There's actually more written for this but I'm really stuck so instead of letting this expire in my drafts I'm posting the part that's done. This technically can stand by itself and I don't want to leave it incomplete but it's possible the rest will never be finished, so here it is for public viewing.
> 
> ADDENDUM. Narrative is complete! Further parts will be added as parts to the series, six parts in total with postings taking place every six days.
> 
> Comment moderation is enabled for once because of the gray area that is "drunk sex." I realize that this is a gray area for many people and for a lot of reasons. However:  
A. This is fiction, and is properly tagged as far as I know.  
B. Neither of them felt the other had violated them in any way.  
C. There was no malicious intent from either of them.  
Due to the above reasons I would appreciate not getting lectured about this issue. Besides that, though, you may bring up for discussion anything else in the comments from typos to favorite lines to me using variations of the word "fuck" too often :) In short, please comment, I love comments, just leave this one thing out of it.


End file.
